


show me what all that howling's for

by swearwollf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Poorly Communicated Kink, Teratophilia, Werewolves, fear kink, full shift sex, improbable sex tbh, monsterfucker!Rhys, not safe of sane but definitely consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swearwollf/pseuds/swearwollf
Summary: Jack is a big bad (were)wolf on the prowl for a good time before Halloween.  Rhys is a Little Red Riding Hood and all too eager to oblige.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 184





	show me what all that howling's for

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to all my friends for reading this over and cheering me on, and MC and Basia especially for the beta (aka comma wrangling)
> 
> title is from Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio (even though i have another werewolf rhack fic with a title from the same song)
> 
> EDIT: now with art thanks to @redheadwitch !

Halloween is Jack’s favorite holiday. The pageantry of it all, the costumes and the parties and the decorations. The slow return of an early nightfall. The _cinnamon spice lattes._ Jack _loves_ it.

But most of all, he loves wolfing out a little in public and no one thinking anything of it. Easy to get his fangs and claws out, let his hair go wild, allow the predatory animal gold to seep into his irises when everyone is already expecting a costume. He stops bothering to shave and his beard grows quickly. Sometimes he even adds a pair of cheap wolf ears on a headband when he’s feeling ironic. Mundane humans are quick to write off strangeness as it is, but around this time of year Jack could probably get away with a full shift and people would just congratulate him on his expensive fursuit.

The bar is noisy; it’s the week before Halloween and a Friday, so it’s packed with people dancing and drinking and having a good time. The crowd is a little young for Jack, but the place is called The Full Moon Bar, and he really can’t resist the irony so it’s one of his favorite haunts for picking someone up when he’s in the mood for company.

And the full moon is close, so he’s definitely in the mood for company.

Leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, Jack casually scopes out the rest of the room. There’s plenty of pretty young things about that he could approach, but he has his eye on one in particular: a leggy twink at the other end of the bar who seems to be eyeing Jack in return and doing a very poor job of being sly about it. He’s ducking his head to talk to his friends, a short, strangely buff viking and a statuesque woman dressed like the devil, who both turn to stare at Jack before the twink hisses at them and they conspicuously look away.

To make the prospect even more appealing, the twink is dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood, and he seems to be short a big bad wolf.

Jack smirks and raises his glass to them. A whispered shouting match ensues amongst the three, after which Twink throws back the rest of his drink and makes his way over to Jack. 

“Hi.” Twink’s face is appealingly rosey; Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a little tipsy already. Maybe that’s what gave him the courage to approach Jack in the first place. “Can I, uh, buy you a drink?”

Jack’s grin, all sharp teeth and predatory instinct, just makes Twink’s face go even redder. He gestures to the empty space at the bar next to him and replies, “Be my guest, kiddo.”

“Good! Great,” Twink gushes, sliding in beside Jack and waving down the bartender, who appears in short order. “Can I get a Guinness? And whatever he’s having, thank you.” Turning to Jack, he adds, “I’m Rhys.” 

God, this kid is so awkward it’s adorable. “Malibu Sunset,” Jack says to the bartender, who nods and leaves without comment. Once they’re as alone as they can be, Jack crowds closer to Rhys and leans into his space, hemming him in between Jack’s body and the bar. “You can call me Jack.”

When Rhys just stares back in flustered silence, Jack can’t help leering and adding, “Nice costume.” The high-waisted shorts do Rhys a lot of favors, really emphasizing just how trim his waist is. That plus the red half-cape thing and the tight shirt/waistcoat combo really complete the slutty twink Red Riding Hood look. Rhys is even wearing thigh high socks, which are really doing things for Jack; that perfect bit of skin between the socks and the shorts looks very appetizing.

Rhys flushes prettily and seems to regain his ability to speak. “Thanks,” he says with false modesty, preening a little. Jack wants to wreck him. “I like yours, too. I’ve always thought werewolves were hot.”

Jack can’t help it, he laughs. “Is that why you’re dressed up like Little Red Riding Hood, hoping some wolf will snatch you up?”

Luckily for Rhys, the bartender returns at that moment and gives him something to hold on to. Rhys takes a bracing sip of his beer and the foam gives him a mustache. Jack wants to lick it off for him.

“Actually, yeah,” Rhys says, looking at Jack through his lashes coyly, “looking for my own big bad wolf. And my, what big teeth you have, handsome.”

With the courage only alcohol can bring, Rhys reaches up and touches Jack’s lips. Jack can’t help but smile against his thumb, and, unbelievably, Rhys brushes the digit against one of Jack’s fangs. Rhys probably thinks it’s fake, but it’s very real and it aches to take a bite of him.

“Bold little thing, aren’t you?” Jack laughs, because how else do you handle a hot stranger sticking their finger in your mouth in an attempt to woo you?

It’s also totally working.

When Rhys realizes what he’s doing he turns just as red as his hood. Stuttering an apology, he tries to pull his hand away, but Jack catches him by the wrist before he can, placing his other hand on the smaller man’s hip to keep him in place. Scraping the pad of Rhys’s thumb with the sharp point of his lower canine before he lets him withdraw, he chides, “No, no. I like it. It’s cute.”

The laugh that comes out of Rhys is incredulous, like he can’t quite believe Jack is playing along with this. His pupils are wide, flicking from Jack’s hold on his wrist to Jack’s face and back. Finally, he manages, “My, what big paws you have, too.”

“All the better to hold you down with, my dear,” Jack purrs. Rhys makes a breathy, wounded noise in response, eyes huge and hungry, and who is Jack to not give him what he wants? After all, he’s hungry too. “Now tell me more about this big bad wolf fantasy of yours, kitten. I want to hear _all_ about it.”

Rhys’s hand slides out of Jack’s loose grip to land on his chest, but Rhys doesn’t use it to push him away. Instead, he curls it in Jack’s shirt and looks at him through his lashes, licking his lips nervously. Jack can’t help a hungry stare; the tip of Rhys’s pink tongue peeking out is enchantingly profane.

“Well,” Rhys starts, obviously flustered but pushing through it bravely, watching Jack for approval, “I’m walking home alone at night. I cut through the park, taking one of the more heavily wooded paths. I haven’t seen anyone for several minutes when I hear a sound-”

That’s close enough to Jack’s plan that an anticipatory growl slinks out of Jack before he can stop it, but luckily it only has the delightful result of making Rhys squeak and turn bright red from his neck to the tips of his ears. With a shaky laugh, Rhys ducks to hide his face in Jack’s chest, his hands suddenly clinging. Jack can hear the rapid staccato of Rhys’s heart, quick with fear and arousal, as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

“Don’t tease me,” Rhys admonishes breathlessly. Jack reaches up to clasp the back of Rhys’s neck, and it feels so small and delicate under his palm, he feels like he could wrap the whole thing up in just one hand. Rhys shivers in his grasp, deliciously receptive to his touch. 

Jack can’t stand it anymore. They have to get out of here before Jack puts Rhys over the bar and fucks him in front of all these people or worse, eats him. “How ‘bout you let me follow you home, sweetheart? You can tell me more about what this big bad wolf does to you on the way.”

“Yeah, I’d, uh- I’d like that.” Loath as Jack is to let him, Rhys pulls away to settle their tab by haphazardly fishing out his wallet (from where in those tight little shorts, Jack couldn’t say) and dropping a few bills on the bar. Afterwards, he clears his throat nervously and looks up at Jack through his lashes again, cheeks still a fetching shade of pink, and says, “Let’s get out of here, handsome.”

The night air is crisp as the step outside, an autumn breeze batting at them absently like a curious cat. Rhys shivers in his shorts, giving Jack the perfect excuse to loop an arm over his shoulders and pull him close to his side. Rhys fits well against him, the perfect height to tuck under Jack’s arm.

“Where to, kitten?” Jack purrs.

The resulting shiver doesn’t owe itself entirely to the wind, going by the way Rhys’s breath catches a little before he answers. “Um, well. If we go to my place, we’d have to go through the park.”

That sounds more like an invitation than a deterrent to Jack. “Lead the way,” he replies, letting the words curl on the end with humor. The uneasy laugh that escapes Rhys says he knows Jack caught his hint.

What Rhys has been describing as a park is more a corner of the nature reserve the town half wraps itself around, a few hundred acres of woods and meadows and hiking trails. It’s the whole reason Jack lives in this town, so he has a place to really stretch his legs on the full moon. There’s even deer for him to chase down and sink his teeth into when he’s feeling into a good hunt. 

Come to think of it, Rhys is a bit leggy like a deer. That plus the doe eyes… maybe Jack has a type. 

Rhys tugs Jack along beside him with poorly concealed eagerness. It’s a short walk to the edge of the ‘park’ and one of the dimly lit paths that cuts through it. There are occasional lamp posts on this particular path to beat the darkness back, but between the trees and the cheap city not wanting to spend more on public safety, the little bastions of light are nearly lost to the shadows. 

They chat easily, even with Rhys thrumming with nervous energy beside him. Noises in the trees make Rhys jump and cling to Jack, staring blindly out into the dark like something could materialize from it at any moment and attack them. And he smells scared, yes, but he also smells _excited,_ like he _wants_ it to happen. Well, who is Jack to say no to that?

“Hey, cupcake,” Jack chides, slowly uncurling his arm from Rhys’s shoulders and taking a half-step back to face him directly, “what are you worrying about out there? The only thing out there is deer, raccoons, and the occasional coyote. If you’re gonna worry about anything, worry about me; I’m the meanest thing in these woods tonight, Rhysie.”

Rhys laughs like it’s a joke, but when he turns to reply Jack flashes his teeth in a hungry grin, only they’re more fangs than teeth now. Jack eagerly awaits seeing Rhys’s eagerness turn to fear, but… it doesn’t happen.

Wide-eyed, Rhys laughs again, breathlessly, and yeah, that’s definitely arousal and not fear that Jack smells, savory and a little sweet on the brisk autumn wind. Jack wonders if his eyes are gold right now, if the light from the nearest lamppost is reflecting off his pupils like it would a wild animal’s. From the way Rhys is staring transfixed into his eyes like a rabbit before a wolf, Jack is thinking yeah, probably.

“You should run,” Jack advises, frustrated but also a little charmed. He can feel the change coming in the way the hairs on his arms rise on end, in the way his teeth and jaw are aching to bite down and rend. The change is in his voice, too, making it more resonant and guttural as he demands, “Well?”

“Oh,” Rhys says, looking almost lovestruck despite the slight tremor in his voice. Then, “oh!” as he finally gets with the program and, against all common sense, runs off the path and straight into the woods.

“What the fuck,” Jack laughs incredulously, then snatching the wolf ears headband off his head and chucking it off the path behind him, he gives chase.

Jack keeps his pace leisurely as he runs through the trees after his prey. Rhys is easy enough to follow with the amount of noise he makes crashing through the underbrush, and even if he managed to get a good lead, Jack could track him just from the wreckage he leaves behind. Despite his clumsiness, he’s still fast thanks to those long legs of his.

Not fast enough, though. Jack picks his pace up a little, snarling to let Rhys know he’s catching up. The whimper Rhys releases on each ragged exhale is delicious, each harried glance over his shoulder so sweet. How is he feeling about that werewolf fantasy now, Jack wonders?

As they break into a small clearing, Jack decides they’ve run far enough; no one should be able to hear them from the trail, and he’s getting tired of playing with his food anyway. Just as he’s gearing up to lunge at Rhys and knock him off his feet, Rhys, inexplicably, trips. He’d managed to run all this way through the woods without catching himself on a root, but he stumbles in an open field? It takes all of Jack’s quick reflexes not to trip over him.

Rhys scrambles to turn over and Jack, thinking he’s trying to get up to run again, leaps to pin him before he can. The sky is clear and the moon is most of the way to full, so Jack gets a clear look at the expression of breathless excitement on Rhys’s face as Jack straddles his hips and catches his flailing arms to pin them above his head. The expected fear scent is there, finally, but shockingly so is the scent of arousal still.

“Holy shit,” Jack chuckles, amazed, “you really are into this. Don’t you know I’m gonna eat you?”

“What?” Rhys wheezes back, still out of breath from the run, “I thought you were going to fuck me?”

Oh my god.

“Holy friggin’ shit, did you trip on purpose so I would fuck you?”

“I can only run for so long, dude! I didn’t want to be too tired when you caught up to me!”

Jack stares. Rhys is flushed and sweaty from running, the hood of his cape is splayed out behind his head like a pool of blood, and he’s frowning petulantly like this argument is more an inconvenience than a potential threat to his life. Leaning down threateningly, Jack snarls to show Rhys _just_ how sharp his fangs are, perfect for tearing apart hot little twinks in the woods where no one can hear them scream. Instead of any sign of fear, all Jack gets is Rhys’s pupils widening, his face going even redder, and yet more of the unmistakable smell of arousal.

Inches from Rhys’s face, Jack chuckles darkly, “You really are into this, huh? You weren’t kidding about that whole monster stalking fantasy. Jesus, kid, you need to check your priorities.”

The shocky look of arousal vanishes from Rhys’s face, turning into an angry little scowl. Then, because he just can’t seem to stop surprising Jack, Rhys surges up to catch Jack in a biting kiss, catching his top lip on Jack’s fangs in the process. That’s it for Jack, the taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of arousal in the air, the light of the moon on his back, that’s all he can take.

Jack crashes into Rhys, pinning him to the cool earth beneath him with the full weight of his body. He transfers Rhys’s wrists to one hand so he can use the other to take Rhys by the jaw and pry his mouth open as wide as it will go, then kisses Rhys ravenously, tastes every corner of his mouth that he can reach, devours each ragged moan like it’s the sweetest flesh a wolf could ask for.

Jack kisses Rhys until he goes completely pliant under him. Licking the blood from Rhys’s lip one last time, Jack finally pulls back enough to let him breathe. Rhys is gasping for air, his pupils blown so wide they nearly obscure the color of his eyes as he stares up at Jack, dazed. Trailing a hand from Rhys’s jaw to his throat and squeezing gently, Jack sits up to stare back.

“You really have no sense of self-preservation, huh?” Jack asks, voice rough from the wolf being so close to the surface and maybe some of his own arousal too. He realizes that he is, for some reason, furious that Rhys is reacting this way. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rhys scoffs. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with _you_ ? Yeah, the makeup and the teeth are cool. You know I’m into it. Why are you acting like _I’m_ the weirdo when you’re the one playing along with my-” here Rhys stutters as he realizes just what he’s saying before continuing, “with my fantasy.”

Jack stares. For a moment, he entertains the idea of just strangling Rhys for being such a monumental idiot. “You really are friggin’ dense, aren’t you? Jesus Christ, I am a _werewolf,_ idiot!”

Before Rhys can answer, Jack lets him go to start pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before rolling to his feet to start working on his pants. He could just shift while in his clothes, but he’d ruin them, and it’s always uncomfortable doing that anyway. Something about being confined by them while turning into a giant wolf never sits well with him.

“Oh, you’re going to insult me and then start undressing like we’re still going to fuck?” Rhys demands as Jack yanks off his pants, underwear, and shoes in one go. Then Rhys gets immediately distracted staring at Jack’s half-hard dick.

“Would you _shut up,”_ Jack snarls, before letting the change take him. It’s easier with the moon so bright and close to full, feels almost like a shiver racing down his limbs, but more painful. Bones shift and pop under his skin as the hair on his body thickens and grows. Everything shifts with his body, from how he holds himself to his perception of the world around him. Rising to his full height as a seven-foot-tall bipedal wolf (excluding the ears), he looms over Rhys, who is still sitting on the ground gaping at him.

“Oh,” Rhys says, staring stupidly. “I hate to break it to you, but this is still doing it for me.”

Snarling eloquently, Jack crouches over Rhys and grabs him by the ankles, yanking until Rhys falls over onto his back. Rhys’s cute white socks are all torn up and stained from running through the woods, yet somehow are still up all the way to Rhys’s thighs. Curling his claws carefully into Rhys’s waistband, he demands harshly, the words awkward but still understandable despite his skull being the wrong shape for them, “Undo your shorts.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Rhys agrees breathlessly, already reaching down to acquiesce. He hastily undoes the button and barely has the zipper down before Jack is yanking his shorts and underwear off in one go. The shoes are a casualty as well, but the socks somehow _still_ stay up. Seriously, what did Rhys do to make them stay like that?

Oh well, doesn’t matter, especially not with Rhys half-naked and already hard right in front of him. Tossing Rhys’s clothes aside, Jack grabs Rhys by the knees and hoists him up until he’s bent in half, just his shoulders and head still on the ground while Jack holds the rest of him aloft, just the right height so Jack doesn’t have to stoop. Then, spreading Rhys’s legs to make room for his head, Jack bends down and licks Rhys from tailbone to balls.

“Oh- shit!” Rhys shouts, bucking in Jack’s hold from the sudden stimulation.

Jack licks him again, this time paying extra attention to his ass because, _holy shit,_ Rhys is already prepared. Before he went out to the bar with his friends, this little slut had fingered himself. Had he just been jerking off before a night out, or was he getting ready for something else, something like this; a stranger fucking him in the ally behind the bar, or maybe bent over the sink in the bathroom, anywhere they needed to be quick about it. The thought makes Jack just about feral. 

Growling, Jack decides he’s gonna _ruin_ this twink. Ruin him for anyone else.

Rhys yowls, arching desperately as Jack licks into him. Jack is relentless, following him every time he tries to pull away until the effort gets too annoying, and he lets go of Rhys’s legs to grab him by the hips and hold him still. This works out well, though, because now Rhys’s legs are clamping around Jack’s head like he can hold him in place, and Rhys’s heels are digging into Jack’s shoulders like he can pull him closer.

Jack growls again without pulling away when Rhys reaches for him and manages to grab an ear. Rhys lets go immediately, hands floating uselessly for a moment before finding their way to his own hair, whimpering and gasping as Jack still doesn’t let up. Rhys tastes slightly chemical from the lube he must have used earlier, but the clean, human taste offsets it, makes Rhys delicious. Careful of his claws, Jack holds Rhys’s hips completely immobile until he abruptly comes apart with a shriek on Jack’s tongue. 

Immediately, Jack moves from Rhys’s hole to his cock, licking him through the aftershocks while Rhys whines and begs for mercy below him. Rhys is overstimulated, but Jack wants every drop of his cum straight from the source.

“Okay, okay, stop, please,” Rhys pleads, hands pushing desperately at Jack’s muzzle. Jack acquiesces, sitting down and draping Rhys’s legs over his hips so Jack has his hands free to push Rhys’s shirt up until his chest is mostly bared. Stooping again, Jack licks Rhys’s belly clean as well, then travels up Rhys’s middle to his nipples, pert from the chilly air, and licks them as well while Rhys shivers.

The position Jack put them in reveals his own cock to Rhys’s eyes. It stands red and straining in the V of their thighs, ready and eager to be put to use. It aches, livid at being left unattended, but Jack had to warm Rhys up before he could put his own dick to use, so he’s been ignoring it as best he could while he ate Rhys out.

It takes a minute or two of Rhys catching his breath between moans at Jack’s continued ministrations before he catches sight of what awaits him. When he does, Rhys just stares dumbly. Even his stupid gaping is attractive.

“Still like what you see, princess?” Jack teases hoarsely. It’s a pretty good cock, if Jack may say so himself, and in this form it’s larger than most humans’.

“It is a little intimidating,” Rhys admits, annoyingly eloquent despite his recent orgasm, “but I’m never one to back down from a challenge. Also, if you don’t fuck me with that thing, I’ll never forgive you.” 

Jack smiles, a menacing show of teeth in this form that makes Rhys gulp despite his enthusiasm. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you worry, I will.”

Rocking up into a crouch, Jack grabs Rhys by the hips and flips him onto his knees. Rhys curses at him indignantly but falls silent when Jack lines himself up, nudging Rhys’s entrance with the head of his cock. It’s a snug fit, _very_ snug, but the lube Rhys used earlier, plus Jack’s saliva and precum, ease the way as Jack slowly slips inside without further ado. Rhys doesn’t stay quiet for long; once Jack’s head is inside, Rhys lets out a chorus of whines and moans and incoherent yelling, all the while clawing at the earth in front of him, ripping grass straight out of the ground.

Distantly, Jack realizes his tail is wagging.

“Still feeling brave down there, pumpkin?” Jack asks almost cruelly when he’s about a third of the way in. He doesn’t plan to go easy on Rhys, but he doesn’t want to break him either.

“Please- Jack!” Rhys sobs, sounding short of air. 

Well, he didn’t say ‘stop,’ so Jack eases in another few inches. He no longer has to hold his dick in place, so Jack places his hands on either side of Rhys’s head, digging furrows in the dirt with his claws. Rhys moans at the change in position, but he doesn’t move, staying exactly where Jack had put him.

“That’s it, good boy.”

Over Rhys like this, it’s impossible to ignore just how much larger Jack is. Rhys looks so small and helpless pinned to the ground under him, and it sends a gleeful shiver of possessiveness through Jack. He could easily become addicted to how powerful it makes him feel. Become addicted to Rhys.

The thought makes Jack pause. Attachment, after one fuck? Not friggin’ likely. Right?

...Right?

Instead of letting himself consider it, Jack pushes the rest of the way inside Rhys’s body while Rhys writhes deliciously under him and moans like Jack is killing him. He’s so _tight,_ tight and warm, a velvet heat around Jack’s dick that clings to his every curve like Rhys can’t bear to let him go. Distantly, Jack realizes he’s spilling a litany of praise on Rhys as he becomes fully seated. He stills, savoring the sensation of Rhys’s body clutching rhythmically around him while Rhys squirms and gasps into the dirt.

Eventually, all the noise Rhys is making form into words. “Jack,” he says, “ _Fuck me_ already.”

Jack doesn’t need any further encouragement. With one hand- paw? claws?- he grabs Rhys by the nape of his and pushes his face to the ground until his back is a graceful downward arch and only his ass is in the air like an offering. Then, his free hand clawing further in the dirt, Jack goes to town.

Rhys is _loud,_ Jack learns quickly. It really is a good thing they came all the way out here, ‘cause Rhys sounds a little like he’s dying, but like in a good way. Jack didn’t start off slow like maybe he should have, but from the noises Rhys is making, Jack doesn’t think he minds. He’s merciless, aiming for Rhys’s prostate every time just to hear him scream.

Jack doesn’t check, but he’s pretty sure Rhys is hard again. Something in the way Rhys clenches around him makes Jack think he must be on the way to another orgasm, as does the rising pitch of Rhys’s cries. 

“You really are a born bottom, huh,” Jack growls. Speaking in this form while he’s distracted by Rhys’s tight ass on his cock takes some effort, but Jack can’t let this go by without comment. “You already came once without your dick touched, and now here you go again. Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

Gratifyingly enough, speech seems to be an effort for Rhys as well. After a gasping whine, he manages to answer, “Yes! Oh- fuck! Please!”

Anything further is lost in the long, stuttering moan Rhys lets out as Jack picks up the pace even further. The clearing is full of the sounds of them fucking, Rhys’s moans, Jack’s growls, the smack of flesh against flesh, and the lewd wet noise of Jack moving in Rhys.

“Good, ‘cause there’s more where that came from.” Leaning down, Jack licks a wet stripe between Rhys’s shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. “I think you can take my knot, don’t you?”

“What?” Rhys yelps deliriously, but Jack is already pushing his burgeoning knot into Rhys. It’s far from fully swollen, just getting big enough for Rhys to feel it. Anything else Rhys wanted to say dissolves into a wail as Jack pops it out again and continues to thrust. He manages this a few more times before the knot threatens to grow too large to fit in Rhys again, so he pops it in one more time and just grinds down while Rhys’s wails taper into winded, high pitched moaning.

Jack slows his pace considerably, his knot now too big to even entertain the idea of pulling out. Rhys is close; Jack can feel it from the tension in Rhys’s body and how his ass is clenching around Jack’s dick. There’s not much room to move, but a few more shallow thrusts has Jack’s knot rubbing right against Rhys’s prostate, and really, that’s all it takes. Rhys falls apart all over again, but this time he doesn’t seem to have the air to be as loud, so all he manages are a long series of breathless whimpers.

That’s enough to send Jack tumbling over the edge after Rhys. Coming in this form is so different from coming as a human. It’s a long, hot, full-body shiver that seems to stretch on forever as warmth and pleasure unspool slowly from his core. It takes all his focus not to bear Rhys to the ground and smother him with his bodyweight until they meld into one being. Instead, Jack carefully lowers himself to Rhys and rolls them to their sides, still tied together, while Jack rides out his orgasm.

After an eternity, Jack slowly starts coming back to himself. Distantly, he realizes Rhys is talking, but Jack can’t understand a word he’s saying. Rhys is also shivering, which isn’t good. His whole front is exposed to the chilly autumn air, so Jack winds an arm around Rhys’s chest and curls around him. After a moment, the shivering stops, and Jack drifts in the warmth of intimacy, his cock still buried so deep he can feel Rhys’s pulse.

And Rhys is _still_ talking, but this time Jack is present enough to understand him. “Wow,” he says, sounding awed and a little dazed, “you come _a lot.”_

“Can you not just let me enjoy the afterglow,” Jack gripes back, not even bothering to open his eyes. “And how are you so friggin’ chatty still after coming twice tonight?”

“Sorry, I’m just, like. Wow. This is a lot, y’know? I heard rumors that there was a werewolf living in this city, and I _found_ him. Found _you._ This is basically my dream come true-” Rhys’s babbling cuts off in a moan when Jack rolls his hips.

“You have zero sense of self-preservation, huh, cupcake,” Jack sniggers, rolling his hips again to feel Rhys squirm in his grasp. Idly, he entertains the idea of going again but doesn’t think he has it in him. Maybe closer to the full moon. “Did it ever occur to you I might have wanted to eat you?”

“I did the math,” Rhys replies, sounding winded. He probably doesn’t have another go in him either. “High risk, high reward. Worth it.”

“Jeez, getting fucked by a werewolf was that high on your list of priorities?” Jack asks wonderingly. Against his will, he finds himself kinda liking the kid for it and the risks he’s willing to take to get what he wants. He’d been planning on eating Rhys after this to keep his secret, but well...

“Honestly, yeah,” Rhys sighs dreamily and nestles back into Jack before laughing brightly. “Thanks for fulfilling my fondest wish, Jack.”

Jack finds himself charmed past the point of no return. Curling tighter around Rhys as his knot finally starts to diminish, he asks, “So. Got any plans for Halloween?”

Rhys humms thoughtfully, squirming a little until Jack nips at his shoulder then stilling with a gasp. “Isn’t it a full moon on Halloween?”

Of course Rhys would know that. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Hm, well,” Jack can hear the giddy smile in Rhys’s voice as he replies, “maybe I’ll go camping. The woods are always so nice during a full moon.”

Grinning a big, wolfy grin, Jack says, “Perfect. It’s a date.”


End file.
